The Hunger Games
by iluvpb22
Summary: Every year, 24 people between the ages of 12 and 18 are sent to the Hunger Games. This year, 18-year-old Scarlett is one of them. She has had a terrible life in the past. Can she put it all behind her and be the last man standing?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! So this is my new story, **_**Hunger Games. **_**(I'll come up with a more creative name later. Can't be bothered to do that now.) It's in Minecraft (sort of) as you can tell from finding this in the Minecraft section. But, um, anyway...**

**Enjoy!**

"Scarlett! Up for a sword fight?"

My twelve year old brother, Sam, doesn't wait for me to answer. He tosses me a drumstick, our weapon of choice.

"Sam, your sister is eight. Don't you think this is a bit violent?" our Mom calls from downstairs. She _hates _it when we do this.

"Of course not! We gotta get this girl in shape," he replies, ruffling up my hair. I flatten it and adjust the barrett he misplaced before reaching up in an attempt to do the same to his dirty blonde hair. Sam blocks my hand with the drumstick.

"Not so fast, Scar. Don't anger your opponent before the match has even begun." He twirls the drumstick as if it were a baton, like the show-off he is. "Now, ready to start?"

I nod furiously, readying my weapon in my hands. He's beaten me _every_ time before; _this time, _I'm determined to win.

We walk to opposite sides of the room, and Sam begins it with, "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!"

I charge at him, trying to knock the stick out of his hand. He grips it firmly, however, and knocks me back, attempting to do the same to me. I'm back on my feet in a flash, though, and the _real _fight begins. When I get a chance to look in a mirror, we're a blur, with strike after strike after counter-strike. Eventually, a "sword" falls out of the hands of its owner.

It's Sam's. I finally beat him.

"Well played, Scar. You're finally a true swords woman." As we share our usual end-of-match hug, he whispers in my ear, "You'll need it some day."

I look up at him, confused. "What? How? I thought this was just a game."

Before Sam can explain, Mom yells up to us, "Scarlett! Sam! Supper's ready! You need to eat quick, Sam, because your hockey game is in an hour."

We rush down the stairs for a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. Mom likes to get Sam his carbs before games.

Dinner remains relatively silent until I announce, "I finally beat Sam in a sword fight!"

"That's my girl," Dad tells me with a high-five.

"Don't you think that their fighting is violent?" Mom asks Dad. Loudly, I might add.

"Nonsense. It's just a game. No harm." Sam looks a bit guilty about something, and I remember his words.

"You'll need it some day," echos through my head. Again, I think, _What could I possibly need it for?_

After that, dinner is finished, Mom takes Sam off to his hockey game, and I go to bed before he gets back home.

The next morning, I wake up to hear my Mom crying in Sam's room, the room next to mine. I decide to leave Mom be, since she can get a bit grumpy in the morning, and go to Dad to ask what's wrong with her.

When I find Dad in the living room, he himself is sniffling. I climb into his lap and give him a hug.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" I lay my head on his shoulder.

He regains himself and answers. "Your-your brother, Sam. He-he passed away. Overnight."

_No, _I thought. _No, please, it can't be true._

"W-what?" I try to hold back tears.

"Sam is dead, Scarlett."

"No." I struggle to hold myself together. I fail. "No!" I crumple onto the couch, sobbing. My brown hair sticks to my face where the tears flow. Scarlett is gone, replaced with a weak, sobbing wreck that may never recover.

The night after his funeral, I don't go to sleep until 3 AM, and when I do, I have an odd dream. More like a vision than a dream. A vision of my brother.

"Hi, Scar," he says, smiling sadly. He waits for an answer that I can't give, since I'm sleeping. "Oh, that's right, you're asleep. You can't ask any questions, so that makes it all the more important that you _listen,_ got it?" I wish I could nod, but I can't.

"Now, before I start, you are _not_ dreaming. This is the real me talking to you, only through a vision. So no matter how insane it seems, this is real.

"I...I died because I was sent to the Hunger Games. Some day, you will be, too. That's what the sword fighting was for. The Hunger Games is where you are sent to this arena that has crates everywhere, filled with food, weapons, armor, just about anything. You try to defend yourself, because _everyone_ is trying to kill you. Last man standing wins.

"You'll be sent there anywhere from when you're 12 to when you're 18. I was unlucky. I hope you won't be. As long as you win, you'll never be sent again. If you die, well, it's not like you can be sent when you're dead."

He seems to stare me straight in the eyes, even though it's just a dream. "When you go there, you _need_ to win. For me. I don't want Mom and Dad to lose you like they lost me."

His expression softens a bit. "Good night, Scarlett. I love you."

I'm almost angry that I can't reply then. So in the morning, I whisper, "I love you too, Sam."

**(Ten Years Later)**

I was on my way home from school. The last day of high school. Still, my last day had a bully in the story. I've been bullied almost every day since Sam died. But it had simmered down since then. Not as bad as it was before.

I notice boys staring at me, pointing at me. I walk faster. Why did boys look at _me_ so much? What was so nice about _me_?

I dump my backpack off by the front door. Mom's still at work, and Dad is at the gym, so I go for the obvious choice. Minecraft.

I've been with Minecraft since it was a baby, metaphorically speaking. It became a distraction from my brother's death. It's also the reason I don't have many friends. I don't need friends anyway.

I log on to the Nexus server, my personal favorite. I join a round of the Hunger Games and wait for it to start.

As I wait, I start to feel kind of sick. The room spins, my vision blurs, and the computer monitor seems to suck me in...

_CRACK! _I black out.

**A/N: I swear, this is the longest thing I've ever written. My hand is cramping like crazy right now, and it's 11:09 PM. Sleep is for the weak!**

**So, what do you think of it so far? I like it. No, I'm not a narcissist. (Mostly)**

**Instead of a fun fact, I'll be doing a Q&A thingy, where both you and I answer! Go ahead and ask questions, please. Until then, they'll be my own. Ready?**

**Q: What is your favorite game?**

**A: Minecraft! (Duh)**

**DFTBA! (Don't forget to be awesome!)**

**-iluvpb22**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I suck at uploading on time. Sorry. **

**Before I start, remember how I said Scarlett was on the Nexus? I actually play on Mineplex, so the Hunger Games map Scarlett is playing on will be a combination of the two. With a few alterations for my own sick pleasure. (Not dirty...) Mua ha ha!**

**Enjoy!**

I woke up standing on something made if stone. There are several problems with this. One, I was sitting on the chair at my desk. Two, the last time I checked, the floor of our office wasn't made of bricks. Three, I couldn't even move. Sleep paralysis? Hallucinations? Maybe. But I had been playing the Hunger Games...

And that's when it hit me. My time as tribute had come.

My eyes flashed open, and indeed, I was in the Hunger Games. But this obviously wasn't how Sam played it. I was stuck in the Nexus. Or maybe Mineplex? I didn't even recognize the map. All I knew was the Cornucopia and the pedestals for the tributes. But I disregarded that and looked down at myself. I was met with my Minecraft skin in all its glory.

My curly hair, a gradient of blue to pink to purple, fell over my back and shoulders and eyes. Somehow, I could still see. (Thanks, Minecraft.) My eyes, I knew, were hazel, and I had a light skin tone. I was clad in purple combat boots with silver lacing and short overalls fastened with gold buttons over a white shirt.

Next, I decided to observe the 23 tributes around me. On my left there was a dude with light brown hair, hazel eyes not unlike my own, red and white sneakers, jeans, and a red and black checkerboard hoodie. He met my eyes and whistled at me. I scowled and looked at the girl past him. She was in an entirely black outfit, with no shoes, and had long, straight, dark brown hair and bright green eyes. We also met eyes, but turned away and faked a brave face, posing herself to run for the Cornucopia.

On my other side, directly to the right, was a furry, humanoid animal in a business suit. He was creepy, so I looked past him. Two people, one in a Batman costume and one wearing a more casual suit, red sunglasses, and an unkempt, shaggy, black head of hair with a beard, were talking to each other, probably discussing strategies. If only I had someone to do that with. I'll bet my brother didn't.

The Cornucopia had a jungle tree-like appearance to it. Four pillars of jungle logs held up a ring of their corresponding leaves. Vines grew from the leaves, enclosing the chests lying within, and the entire center was surrounded by a ring of water, lily pads placed strategically for parkour.

Before I get a chance to observe the arena, a man appears on top of the Cornucopia, seemingly from nowhere. This man is the only one of the whole bunch I recognize.

"Welcome, tributes!" Silence follows, everyone anticipating his announcement. "As many of you know, I am Notch, the newly elected Head Gamemaker." Indeed, I knew he was Notch, but what's a Gamemaker? "Few of you have been granted knowledge of the Hunger Games, and those who have must be questioning the changes." Yes. This was _not_ what Sam had been in. Minecraft hadn't even existed when he was in the Hunger Games. "Let me explain them to you.

"This year's Games are based off my creation, Minecraft. Over the century of the Games' existence, we've found that fewer and fewer people are attempting hand-to-hand combat. They even try to _help_ each other. I particularly remember one of the younger, twelve-year-old tributes." Notch glanced my direction. I gasped. He was talking about Sam. Fury boiled up inside me faster than it ever had before.

"You killed him!" I screamed, struggling to jump from my podium unsuccessfully. I wanted to grab a sword from one of those chests and stab him in the back, right then and there. "You killed him, you murderous scum!" Everyone's eyes locked on me, including Notch's. His glare was filled with hatred and anger masked almost completely in calmness.

"Calm down, sweetheart. Don't anger your opponent before the match has even begun." Sam's words, coming from Notch's mouth, traumatize me into silence. "Excellent. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. This twelve-year-old tended everyone's wounds. The diseases carried by infected tributes was what got to him. No one could kill him. He was too useful to kill." That was wrong. No one could kill him because no one thought it was just for a twelve year old to be out on the equivalent of a battle field.

"Now, for the new rules. First of all, as some of you can tell, the age limit has been changed. The new maximum age limit is twenty-two years old. The minimum is the same. Next, to avoid 'waste of human life', as one victor called it, tributes that are killed no longer _actually_ die. They become 'ghosts', and are able to observe the rest of the Game, as well as sponsor the remaining tributes. You can sponsor them food, weapons, armour, and potion effects. Rather than all items being at the Cornucopia, chests filled with useful items are scattered around the arena. To quicken the speed of the Games, once we are narrowed down to four tributes, they will be teleported to the center for a deathmatch. Finally, there is a bonus for the winner. As part of the Quarter Quell, whose theme this year is 'mercy', the winning tribute is able to revive a fallen tribute from the previous Games."

My ears perk up at this. If I won, I could bring back Sam… This fills my blood with a new passion. _I _have _to win this,_ I tell myself.

Notch finishes his announcement. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," his voice rises to a shout, "let the 100th annual Hunger Games begin! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Someone begins to vocally count down. "Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…"

I'm faced with one final question that all tributes find themselves facing, whether they like it or not. Run to center, or run away?

"...fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five…"

**A/N:Again, soooo sorry for the wait!**

**Is it just me, or does Notch sound particularly evil? XD**

**Now, Q&A time!**

**Q (from Brightmist): What is your favorite fandom other than MInecraft?**

**A: Umm…does Disney count? Otherwise, I can't think of anything.**

**Don't forget to leave your own questions, and**

**DFTBA!**

**-iluvpb22**


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